


The Wolf that Sleeps with Dragons

by keiko48460



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiko48460/pseuds/keiko48460
Summary: Instead of heading to the Frey’s to extract her revenge, Arya Stark heads to Mereen to strike a deal with the Dragon Queen.





	1. The Cloaked Warrior

The city of Mereen was bustling with life.  Free men and women were walking comfortably down the intricate system of alleyways and roads, while the sound of children’s laughter bounced between the building and echoed up to the tallest peak of the great pyramid. There, at the top a woman, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Mereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons—stared down at the finally peaceful city with her piercing purple eyes.   

Nothing escaped her gaze as she stared down at the city that she fought so hard to free.  Like an old willow tree that stood for thousands of years, the Masters had their roots embedded deep into every nook and cranny of this city.  When she first arrived, her army had taken an axe to the Masters and their power over the city came crashing down.  However, she forgot that as long as the roots live—so does the tree. 

They had nearly killed her.  They had nearly taken the city again.  She had nearly lost everything.  Yet, here she stood.  And with her dragons and her army she was able to uproot the Masters hold on this city—and finally free it from their hold. 

The sound of the children’s laughter echoed between her ears, a sound that she was so grateful to finally hear.  She clung to it, like an infant clung to its mother and embraced the comfort that came in its wake.    

“My Queen,” a voice she immediately recognized as her Hand, pulled her from that comfort and back to reality.  Turning from the city, her eyes moved down to the small man who entered the balcony.  Even from this distance she could see the worried look in his eyes.  All peacefulness that the city once brought immediately disappeared as she stepped forward. 

“What is it Tyrion?  Is it the Masters, again?” she asked, her mind jumping to the worst-case scenario. 

“No, your grace,” replied her Hand, stopping and wringing his hands nervously in front of her. 

Daenerys eyed his hands critically, never once seeing the man look so unsettled. 

“What is it Tyrion, speak” she ordered.

“We have visitors, your grace.”

“Visitors?”

“Yes, your grace,” confirmed Tyrion, grimacing. 

“And these,” she paused to eye him critically once more, “ _visitors_ , you say—are they friend or foe?” 

Tyrion’s grimace turned into a small proud smirk, proud of his queen’s ability to read the dire situation before masking it back into a frown.  “That—is yet to be determined your grace.”

Daenerys brow rose at this, a silent gesture to her Hand that she needed more. 

“These visitors, they come with a request to join your army.”

Daenerys held tilted to the side.  “And this is bad?”

“No, your grace,” said Tyrion stepping closer now, so that he could stare directly up at her.  “We will need their ships and their support in the war to come.”

“Then why is your face marred with such a look?” Daenerys asked. “You said it yourself, we need more allies.”

Tyrion nodded agreeing.  “Yes, we need allies, but I am more concerned as to where these allies come from and if they are to be believed as allies.”

“Are they from the south?”

“No,” said Tyrion looking up with a serious expression.  “They come from west—Westeros to be exact.”

* * *

 

Daenerys sat on the throne of Mereen as the large doors across the chamber was opened.  Surrounded by unsullied guards, three people entered the room.  A strong intimidating woman in grey armor led at the front.  A man, similar in her liking followed almost meekly behind.  And behind that man, at hooded figure in a black cloak walked silently in-step.  

All three stopped in a line at and simultaneously bowed. 

“Your grace,” started Tyrion at her right, “This is Yara and Theon Greyjoy,” introducing the man and woman in grey armor.  Tyrion stepped forward further, eyeing Theon critically. “Last time we saw each other was at Winterfell, yes? You were making jokes about my height, I seem to recall. Everyone who makes a joke about a dwarf’s height thinks he’s the only person ever to make a joke about a dwarf’s height. “The height of nobility,” “a man of your stature,” “someone to look up to.” You’re all making the same five or six jokes.”

Theon flinched, almost as if he couldn’t help it, but nodded, nonetheless. “It was a long time ago." 

“It was,” agreed Tyrion.  “And how have things been going for you since then? Not so well, I gather. Can’t imagine you would have murdered the Stark boys if things had been going well.” 

Daenerys who had the best vantage point of the room, was barely able to make out the hand at the cloaked figures side balling into a fist at Tyrion’s words.  But, before she could comment on it, the male Greyjoy spoke up with a tremor. 

“I didn’t murder the Stark boys. But I did things that were just as bad or worse.”

The fist at the cloaked figures side relaxed slightly, but Daenerys view was interrupted when Yara stepped forward.  She stood between Tyrion and her brother, like a protective shield. 

“And he has paid for them already.”

Tyrion chuckled at that, a deep and dark one, a sound that was rare from her Hand.  “Doesn’t seem like it to me,” he replied, leaning around Yara to get a better look at Theon.  “He’s still alive. It was complicated for you, I’m sure, growing up at Winterfell. Never quite knowing who you were. But then, we all live complicated lives, don’t we?”

Growing tired of the banter and wanting to know the identity of the mysterious cloaked figure, Daenerys spoke.  “You’ve brought us 100 ships from the Iron Fleet with men to sail them. In return, I expect you want me to support your claim to the throne of the Iron Islands?  
  
In a surprise move the feeble man stepped around his protective sister to address Daenerys.  “Not my claim,” he replied before nodding back to his sister, “hers.”

Daenerys eyebrows rose at this, not expecting it.  “And what’s wrong with you?” she inquired. 

Theon casted his eyes down, before speaking. “I’m not fit to rule.”  
  
Tyrion barked out a laugh at that.  “We can agree upon that at least.”

Daenerys shook her head at her Hand, before turning to Yara.  “Has the Iron Islands ever had a queen before?”

Yara smirked, “No more than Westeros.”

Daenerys smiled at that.  She liked this woman.  She had guts and there was a hardness to her that she respected. 

Theon spoke once more, “Our Uncle Euron returned home after a long absence. He murdered our father and took the Salt Throne from Yara. He would have murdered us if we had stayed.”

Daenerys absorbed the information before settling back into her throne, assessing both Greyjoy’s.  “Lord Tyrion tells me your father was a terrible king.”  
  
“You and I have that in common, your Grace,” smirked Yara brazenly.

Daenerys grimaced at her words but nodded her head in agreement with the female Greyjoy.  “We do. And both murdered by a usurper as well.” 

Turning to Tyrion she asked, “will their ships be enough?”

Tyrion nodded, “with the former Masters’ fleet, possibly. Barely. There are more than 100 ships in the Iron Fleet.”

“There are and Euron is building more. He’s going to offer them to you,” stuttered out Theon.

“So why shouldn’t I wait for him?” asked Daenerys generally intrigued by this.   
  
Theon’s eyes cast to the floor again, “The Iron Fleet isn’t all he’s bringing. He also wants to give you…” he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

His big sister came to his rescue once more, “His big cock,” she replied. “Euron’s offer is also an offer of marriage, you see. You won’t get one without the other.”

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of men, Daenerys turned to Yara.  “And I imagine your offer is free of any marriage demands?”

A cocky smirk formed on Yara’s face as she unabashedly stared at Daenerys.  “I never demand, but I’m up for anything, really.”

Brazen indeed, thought Daenerys as she stared at the Greyjoy woman.  

“He murdered our father and would have murdered us,” said Theon before he looked up at Daenerys. “He’ll murder you as soon as you have what he wants.”  
  
“The Seven Kingdoms,” supplied Tyrion, looking up at Daenerys in worry.

“All of them,” confirmed Theon. 

“And you don’t want the Seven Kingdoms?” questioned Daenerys.

Both Greyjoy’s shook their heads, but it was Theon who spoke, “your ancestors defeated ours and took the Iron Islands. We ask you to give them back.”

“And that’s all?” asked Daenerys, intrigued.

“Well, we’d like you to help us murder an uncle or two who don’t think a woman’s fit to rule,” replied Yara, that ever-present smirk in place. 

Daenerys smirked back.  “Reasonable,” she replied, nodding her head. 

Tyrion immediately turned to her, “What if everyone starts demanding their independence?”

Daenerys sighed at her Hand, his hate for Theon clearly clouding his judgement.  “She’s not demanding, she’s asking. The others are free to ask as well. Our father were evil men, all of us here. They left the world worse than they found it. We’re not going to do that. We’re going to leave the world better than we found it.”

Standing she approached Yara.  _“_ You will support my claim as queen of the Seven Kingdoms and respect the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms. No more raving, roving, raiding, or raping,” she ordered.   
  
Yara’s smirk quickly vanished at that and was replaced by a look of incredulousness.  “But that is our way of life.”  
  
“No more,” replied Daenerys a finality in her voice. 

Silence encompassed the chamber as Yara and Theon shared a look.  Finally, Theon nodded, and Yara turned back to Daenerys and nodded before offering her hand to the Queen. 

“No more,” agreed Yara. 

Daenerys nodded, unfamiliar with the gesture but reaching forward as she had seen men do all her life and grasp Yara’s forearm in a firm grip. Their agreement now sealed. 

Nodding to the Greyjoys, Daenerys turned to the cloaked figure. “And you,” she addressed the figure.  “Who are you?”

“We picked him or her up in at a port about 100 miles west of Mereen.  They haven’t shown their face or spoken a word since boarding our ship,” said Yara, eyeing the mystery figure.  “We were given a note and a bag of gold to bring this one here to you.”

Immediately intrigued once more, Daenerys turned to the mysterious figure. “Do you speak?” 

“Yes,” replied the hooded figure with a rasp, the gender of the person still a mystery. 

“And your name?” inquired Daenerys. 

“I am No One, your grace,” replied the cloaked figure once again. 

“Were you not given a name?” asked Daenerys, looking to Wormtail wondering if this cloaked figure was raised the same as he. 

“I was given a name at birth, your grace,” replied the figure, brining Daenerys eyes back to them. 

“And what was it?”

The cloaked figure went silent once more, before reaching up with a hand to the top of the hood and pulling it back—revealing the hard and angular face of a woman.  Grey, cold eyes turned to the Queen. 

“My parents, Ned and Catelyn Stark named me Arya,” replied the woman, her grey eyes turning even more dark at the mention of her parents. Turning towards  Daenerys she spoke, her voice deadly and barely above a whisper.  "And that is why I am here, your grace.  I have come to seek vengeance."

And with that, all hell broke lose.  

 

 


	2. The Chosen Future

Greyworm and his unsullied immediately surrounded Arya Stark with their spears mere inches from her body.  Daenerys stood at their backs, watching with wide eyes as the Stark woman barely even batted an eye at the danger she was in.  Instead, the northerner held her grey eyes on the Queen.  

“Have you come to kill me Arya Stark of Winterfell,” asked Daenerys, her voice was deadly quiet, almost daring the woman to move against her unsullied.  

Arya smirked, at the queen’s words.  “If I wanted to kill you, your grace—I would have done it last night when you snuck past your guards and went to the kitchen for a snack,” she replied, her tone never once wavering, even as the spears of the unsullied grew even closer. 

Daenerys gasped at her words before anger erupted inside of her. “You were inside the pyramid last night,” she accused. 

“Yes,” replied Arya.  “I wanted to see if the rumors about you were true.”

Daenerys anger died somewhat at that, but still they sparked within her.  “And what did you find?”

“I followed you to the kitchens,” replied Arya, a smirk finally gracing her face.  “You were sitting a table, sharing a plate of cookies with the servant’s children.  You were telling them a story of the first Targaryen dragon riders. You were laughing and smiling with them, even providing dragon roars where the story required.”

It took everything in Daenerys not to blush in embarrassment at Arya’s very accurate, but very private moment she had with the servant children.  Anger instead snuffed out any embarrassment, and Daenerys glared. 

“I had no guards.  No dragons.  So that questions still remains, why did you not kill me?”  She stepped closer now, her front almost completely touching the back of one of the unsullied.  “My father killed your grandfather and uncle, so why did you not take your revenge?”

“I never came to kill you, your grace—only to see…”

“Yes,” interrupted Daenerys.  “To see if the rumors about me were true, and what are these rumors you speak of?”

Arya smirked again.  “When I escaped death and left from Bravos, I had every intention of sailing west and to seek my revenge against those who killed my family.  But a man, his wife, and his 2 children were coming off a ship from Mereen.  They spoke of a silver-haired queen who came to their city on the backs of dragons and freed them from their chains.  They spoke of a kind and just leader.  They spoke of a queen of the people, chosen by the people and loved by her people.”

Arya paused, looking down at one of the spears that hovered directly over her heart before looking back up at Daenerys.  “As I moved to step on my ship to Westeros, I noticed another ship was making sail for Mereen—and I was torn.  I was stuck on the dock, looking between two different futures. But in the end, I chose this one. I chose you.”

Her words were powerful, shaking Daenerys to her very core. And for the first time in a long time, the Queen found herself speechless. 

“Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark—” started Tyrion, the first to find his words as he stepped forward. “Why are you here?”

Arya’s eyes filtered down to Tyrion.  “To help your queen take the iron throne,” she replied nonchalantly. 

Tyrion eyed her critically before casting a passing glance to Daenerys and then back to Arya.  Stepping forward he gradually inched is way between two unsullied and made his way into the circle, the spears still on their mark but over his head. 

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” asked Tyrion. 

Arya smirked.  “By killing your sister.”

Tyrion eyebrows rose at that.  “If only it were that easy.”

“Oh, but it is,” said Arya, before looking up at Daenerys. “I could have easily killed you last night.  I snuck past all your Dothraki, Your Second Sons, your unsullied and your dragons, your grace.  You have an army twice Cersei’s size, a personal guard three times Cersei’s size, and an army that is not only more skilled but would also fight for you until their dying breath—and yet I still snuck past them all.  I could easily do the same at Kings Landing.”

“You are that confident of your skills?” asked Daenerys, anger fading and giving wake to awe. 

“I am,” replied Arya.  “I could kill you right now, if I wanted to, your grace.  I am that good.”

The unsullied spears all shook in barely containing their rage at their queen being threated once again. 

Tyrion seeing this, snuck back out and went to Daenerys side. 

Daenerys was watching the whole display critically. “You were unarmed when you came here, are you saying that you believe you can defeat 6 unsullied soldiers, one being my commander—completely unarmed?”   

Arya openly smiled now, a feral smile—but a smile, nonetheless. “Yes,” she answered simply. 

Daenerys grabbed Tyrion’s shoulder and pushed him back with her, to the safety of the throne before speaking once more.  “Show me,” she ordered.

Her words were like a spark to Wild Fire, in an instant where Arya once stood, she was gone.  Ducking between the spears that were moving at a speed that Daenerys could not even register, Arya was on the ground, knocking the legs from beneath two unsullied but not before kneeing one in the face as he fell to the ground unconscious. Grabbing his spear, she barely spun away as 5 spears were being thrusted to where she once was. 

She quickly put distance between the unsullied and went to work.  One by one the unsullied came after her, and one by one they fell.  Never once did Arya draw blood, instead she used the blunt edge of the spear to incapacitate her victims. 

It was a battle unlike Daenerys had ever seen.  The unsullied were structured in their attacks, and Arya moved through them like water.  She moved fluidly, her spear and feet moving in an intricate dance through the chamber until finally—it was only her and Greyworm left. 

The two warriors squared off, ready to see who could best the other and Daenerys was ready to watch it all until suddenly a small voice whimpered behind her.

“Your grace, please…”

Daenerys turned, and to her horror, she found Missandei watching the battle with her gaze stuck on Greyworm, fear glowing in her eyes. 

Daenerys heart sank at the sight and turned back to the fight just as Arya and Greyworm moved to attack the other.

“STOP!” she commanded.  

Greyworm stopped immediately yet but he kept his spear in attack position—and to her surprise, Arya also stopped but she took it one step further and dropped her spear to the ground.

Daenerys moved towards Arya but not before calling to Missandei, “Call the for the healers.”

“They aren’t badly hurt,” replied Arya, looking down at the unsullied.  “I made sure of it before I struck them.”

Daenerys looked down at each unsullied, checking to make sure each were breathing as she went by before coming to stand in front of Arya.

“How did you learn how to do this?” asked Daenerys.

Arya opened her mouth but was interrupted by Missandei, “She is a water dancer, your grace.”  Missandei moved forward to stand by Daenerys side, looking at Arya with a cautious gaze. 

“A water dancer?” asked Daenerys, unfamiliar with the term. 

“It is a deadly form of combat, trained by the swordsman of Bravos.”

Daenerys turned to Arya, “is this true?”

Arya nodded, “yes, your grace.  I was trained as a water dancer at a very young age.  My father hired a man from Bravos as my tutor.  I was also trained in the Westerosi way by the Hound.”

“The Hound, really?” asked Tyrion stepping forward. 

“Well, not really,” shrugged Arya, a fond smile on her face. “He mostly complained about my presence, but I watched him kill a lot of men.  I watched, and I learned.”

“And who taught you the way of the spear?” asked Greyworm in a rare moment of questioning, his guard still up.  “I have fought water dancer’s before—you are not just a water dancer.”

Arya smirked at that.  “No, I am not,” she replied.  “As to who taught me the way or the spear, that was no one.”

“Answer the question,” ordered Daenerys, her patience wearing thin once more.  “Who taught you?”

Arya turned to her, all smirks and smiles gone from her face as she answered, “I have answered, your grace.  No one taught me.”

Daenerys opened her mouth to let loose her anger, but small gasp stopped her.  Everyone turned to see Varys standing to the side of the room, looking at the Stark in shock.

“You are Faceless Man,” he whispered. 

The notable tension in the room grew at Varys statement, as everyone in the room took a step back from Arya—even Greyworm. 

Arya barely blinked an eye, as she turned to Varys.  “I am.”

“Impossible,” scoffed Tyrion, even as he continued to put space between him and Arya.  “The Faceless Men are nothing but myths—fables we tell the children to keep them in line.”

“They are real, Tyrion,” said Varys stepping forward while everyone else stepped back.  “My birds have confirmed they are.”  Stopping just out of Arya’s reach, he looked at her.  “How does Arya Stark of Winterfell become a Faceless Man, and most importantly, how does she leave the temple alive?”

Arya grimaced at the question, but nonetheless answered, her eyes going back to the person who needed to hear it the most, Daenerys.

“I needed to learn to kill—in order to avenge my family. So, I went to the Faceless Men, learned their ways and became one of them.  But I quickly found out that I was not built to kill the innocent, and the Faceless Men do not allow room for failure.  My mentor, he sent one of his best disciples to kill me—and nearly succeeded but I killed them first.  Which is why I needed to leave Bravos.  Which is also why I am here.”

“So, they could still be coming after you?” asked Varys, with a grimace and a concerned look back to Tyrion.

“No, I don’t think they will,” answered Arya. 

“Why?” asked Daenerys, eyeing the woman carefully for any sigh of deception. 

Arya smirked this time, as she faced the queen.  “Because they made a mistake when they trained me—you see, they made me the best assassin the temple has ever created. The one person who could come close to my skills is now dead.”

Her smirk disappeared after that, as a look of complete seriousness overtook her face.  “It is just me now.”


	3. A Simple Request

Dinner that night was awkward to say the least.  After Arya’s display in the throne room, everyone was on edge.  Yet, no one felt comfortable enough putting the women under lock and key—especially since the women has been nothing but open since her arrival. 

As such, Daenerys ordered everyone to dinner and that’s where they were—Daenerys at the head, Missandei at her left, Tyrion at her right, and then the rest of the table filled accordingly with the Greyjoys, Varys, Greyworm, Dario and then Arya.  If there were more guards present around the dinner table then normal, no one commented on it, as the sound of silverware clinking against plates rang through the room, making the silence even more awkward. 

Finally, a loud clear of the throat brought most of everyone’s attention to Tyrion.

“Your grace, I have spoken to the Greyjoys and your armies, we will be ready to set sail to Dragonstone in 3 days.”

Daenerys learned back in her chair, her eyes flickering to Arya who never even glanced up from her plate as she continued to shovel food into her mouth, before turning to Tyrion.  “That quickly?”

“Yes, your grace,” said Tyrion.  “I was surprised too, but the Greyjoy ships are ready and waiting, as are the Masters. We just need time to pack them.”

Daenerys nodded before turning to the Greyjoys. “Do what you must.  Take as many of the unsullied or Dothraki that you need in order to prepare the ships.” Daenerys paused to look at her silent commander, “Greyworm will assist you.”

“My queen,” said Greyworm, the concern in his tone being enough to voice his concern. 

Daenerys smiled at him.  “If you are concerned my safety, fear not—I will keep Lady Stark nearby, I am sure she can handle any trouble that comes my way.”

The silence that echoed after her statement put the room into another uneasy silence and for the first time Arya looked up from her plate.

“I am no lady—your grace,” whispered Arya quietly, her eyes going back down to her plate. 

Daenerys brow rose at that before taking sip of her wine.  “What would you have me call you then?” she questioned.

Arya wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt and shrugged.  “Arya. Stark. Girl. You may call me anything, your grace—just not a lady.  It would be an insult to all the ladies in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Daenerys gave a small smile at Arya’s complete lack of etiquette—she was correct, the woman was no lady. 

“If I recall my lessons, the Starks banner is a wolf, correct?”

Arya for the first time, stopped eating at her statement.  Her fork hovering in front of her face as she stared at the Queen in shock.

“You are correct, your Grace,” said Tyrion, looking down the table to Aria. 

“It’s settled then,” nodded Daenerys.  “You will be my wolf.”

Arya smirked at that, finally shoving the last piece of sausage into her mouth before giving the queen an approving nod. 

“It is settled then,” called out Tyrion, lifting his cup up to Arya.  “Welcome to the Queen Daenerys Targaryen’s inner circle, Wolf.”

Arya ignored him entirely, and instead reached for a second helping of sausage and beans. 

Tyrion and Daenerys shared a look between them, one that both of them recognized that they found the girl amusing.  But all amusement was quickly extinguished by just a few words stumbling out.

“Arya—” trembled out Theon, gathering everyone’s attention as the Ironborn looked at the deadly woman at the end of the table in shame.  “I’m sorry for what I did to your fam—”

The sound of a knife being embedded in the wooden table echoed through the room as everyone nervously watched the assassin’s white-knuckle grip had on the knife. 

Arya wasn’t looking at Theon, but the cold fury on her face, and the way her chest was heaving beneath her cloak—you knew exactly who the reason behind her anger. 

Daenerys opened her mouth, ready to say something to keep the peace.  But the sound of a chair scrapping against the floor quickly interrupted her and with a flash, Arya Stark was gone.

“Well,” said Tyrion, breaking the silence once more before taking a healthy swig of his wine. “I think its best you stay away from the wolf for a while, Greyjoy.”

Theon grimaced and shook slightly in his chair but nodded all the same. 

Daenerys for the first time, really looked at Theon.  She could the defeated soul within in him.  Varys had whispered what his little birds had told him of the young lords’ time in the hands of Ramsey Bolton.  The man—had certainly undergone atrocities.

“Lord Greyjoy,” called Daenerys, gathering the man’s attention.  “You will assist Greyworm and the unsullied prepare the boats.”

“Your grace,” replied Yara in her brother’s stead.  “My brother should stay with me.”

Daenerys smiled at over-protective sister, “I promise you, your brother will be completely safe with the unsullied.”  Daenerys paused, turning to Greyworm. “Will you please show Lord Greyjoy to the barracks.”

“Yes, my queen,” replied Greyworm standing. 

Theon stood with him, giving Daenerys a bow before sharing a look with this sister as he followed Greyworm out of the room. 

As soon as he left, Yara turned to Daenerys again.  “Your Grace?”

“I have heard whispers about what your brother has endured at the hand of the Bolton’s,” supplied Daenerys, watching as anger etched across Yara’s face.  “Your bother will find comfort in the presence of the unsullied.  The unsullied have endured the same from their prior masters.”

Yara grimaced, but finally nodded her head—both in acceptance and thanks.

Daenerys nodded back, before looking around the table, seeing that most of the people had the table had finished their plates. 

“Lord Tyrion, please escort Lady Greyjoy to her rooms,” ordered Daenerys before standing. 

Out of respect everyone else stood and gave her a bow as she left the room and towards her chambers. 

With Missandei at her side and the guards in tow, Daenerys let out a long sigh—letting the long day finally show on her body. 

“Shall I run you a bath?” asked Missandei, concern etched into her face.

Daenerys smiled, the first genuine one all night.  “No thank you, my friend,” she paused as she stopped outside her door.  “I just want to sleep,” she admitted. 

“I understand, your grace,” said Missandei with a reassuring smile.  “Goodnight,” she nodded before giving walking away. 

Daenerys watched her friend round the corner before walking into her room.  She shut the door, with a pacing glace at the guards getting into formation outside her bedroom.  Daenerys took peace in knowing she would be protected tonight.  Turning towards the bed she so desperately wanted, Daenerys gave a startled breath at the sight of a person standing in the middle of her room.  One she immediately recognized.

“Have I judged you incorrectly, are you here to kill me, wolf?” asked Daenerys just above a whisper. 

Arya Stark looked at her with her piercing grey eyes, before finally shaking her head. “No.  I am here to protect you.”

“Protect me?” asked Daenerys finding her voice at the exact time her heart began to settle in her chest.  “Did you see the unsullied guards outside my bedroom?  Does it look like I need protection?”

“Yes.”

It was such a simple answer, one that Arya didn’t feel the need to expound upon. 

“Is this going to be a normal occurrence from you, wolf?” asked Daenerys, walking around the assassin towards her night stand.  Taking a seat she began the tedious process of removing her jewelry and taking down her hair.  “Will you be breaking into my room every night, claiming I need protection?”

“Yes.”

Daenerys scoffed at the one word answer this time, as she removed the last bracelet and began to work on her hair.  After the long day she had, it seemed the task of undoing her hair and finding a witty response to the Stark woman was too much for her brain to handle.  Silence encompassed the room once more, a trait that Daenerys had come to accept would happen quite often whenever her wolf was around. 

A particular knot in the back of her head was causing her problems, internally cursing Messendei for her hair knotting skills—Daenerys was surprised by the feeling off her fingers being pushed away from her hair.  Looking into her mirror, she was surprised once more to find Arya behind her, the face of the Stark woman was set in into the same determination she had when she squared off with her unsullied—it seemed that even in small things, the Wolf of Winterfell was always determined to see it through. 

Daenerys could have ordered to stop.  She could have ordered her to leave.  But in all honestly, she was intrigued by the woman behind her.  So, in instead, she chose to let the women work at her hair—and if Daenerys were being completely honest with herself, it felt to nice to stop.

Arya’s hands were calloused, she could feel the roughness against her scalp, but the woman’s hands were gentle with every knot she undid.

“Do you often break into women’s rooms and help them take down their hair, wolf?” asked Daenerys watching the woman in the mirror closely.

Arya barely blinked an eye before looking up, her lips forming into a smirk.  “Only the pretty ones, your grace,” she replied before going to back to her work. 

Daenerys blushed at the comment while cursing the fire in her blood.  She was not used to such blatant comments from women, and today alone—two Westerosi women have made them. 

It must be a Westeros thing.  She would have to ask Tyrion about it tomorrow. 

The feeling of the last knot falling brought her out of her mind as Arya hand’s quickly left the queens head, and the women stepped back to her original spot across the room. 

“Thank you,” said Daenerys, nodding to the northerner in the mirror before getting up from her seat and making her way to her wardrobe. 

Grabbing a night dress, she quickly made work of the dress she had on.  Undoing the clasp, she let it fall to the floor, exposing her body to the moonlit room.  She heard the unmistakable gasp in the silence and turned to find Arya with her back turned to her. 

“Are all women of Westeros not comfortable with nudity?” asked Daenerys with a slight laugh as she reached for her night dress to slip it on.

Arya cleared her throat, her back still turned as she spoke to the queen. “I do not know your grace, I haven’t been to Westeros in years, and even then—I never spent much time in the presence of women.”

Daenerys cataloged that statement in her mind, as she moved forward.  “I am dressed now, wolf—you can safely turn around.”

Arya turned slowly, her eyes finally coming to rest on the dressed queen who was stopped at the foot of her bed. 

“I am going to bed now, wolf” stated Daenerys as she leaned back and sat on her bed to assess the northerner. 

Arya nodded, “it is late, your grace.  You should get some sleep.”

Daenerys tilted her head to the side, “and will you be leaving my chambers so that I can sleep?”

Arya grimaced at the question, and casted a look to the balcony.  “I—” started Arya, only to stop and let out a sigh of frustration and her lack of speech. 

Daenerys followed her gaze to the balcony, and then back to Arya.  “Speak what you must, wolf.  I am a patient queen but like normal people, my patience wears thin with fatigue.”

Arya nodded at that before casting her eyes to the ground, a look Daenerys was surprised to see come from such a strong warrior.  This Arya was different—vulnerable even. 

“I haven’t slept in a bed in nearly 7 years, your grace,” said Arya softly.  “It feels weird—wrong to be in a place like this again—surrounded in wealth, extravagance and comfort.  I—” Arya paused, finding her words once more.  “I would normally pitch a tent on the outskirts of the city—but then I would be too far from you in order to provide any help or protection.”

Daenerys listened absorbing every word, “yes—I can see your dilemma, wolf.  How do you suggest we rectify this?”

Arya’s eyes came up from the ground, her eyes meeting Daenerys in a desperate plea. “Your balcony.”

Daenerys startled at the worlds, not expecting them before her eyes went to the large balcony off of her room.  “My balcony?”

“Can I sleep there?” clarified Arya. 

Daenerys let out an incredulous laugh, “you wish to sleep on my balcony?” she asked, not believing the words that were coming out of her mouth. 

“Yes.”

The one-word answer quickly brought Daenerys back to the seriousness.  It seemed—this was no joke on behalf of the northerner.  It was an honest request.  One that Daenerys was uncertain of how to respond to.

“I will be quiet, your grace.  You won’t even know I am out there,” said Arya.  “This is the only room in the entire pyramid that has access to the outside or would have never asked.”

Daenerys leaned back on her bed, her hands catching her from behind as she looked carefully at the northerner.  “This is truly your request?  You wish to sleep on balcony?”

“Yes, your grace. If you would allow it, of course.”

Daenerys didn’t know how comfortable she felt about this.  But clearly, Arya didn’t feel comfortable here either.  She wasn’t completely invading Daenerys space, it was not as if she asked to share her bed.  Daenerys didn’t understand why the thought of the northerner in her bed didn’t upset her as much as it should—so the patio, was the least of her concerns. 

Daenerys got up from the bed, and walked to its right side before pulling back the sheets and getting in.  Looking up to the confused norther, she gave what she hoped was a comforting smile before side-glancing the balcony. 

“Good night, wolf,” whispered Daenerys, turning over in bed and resting her head on her pillow. Daenerys heard the small sounds of footsteps head towards the balcony.  And maybe it was her tired mind, or a dream—but she could have sworn she heard the soft whisper.

“Thank you, Danny.”


	4. Never Wake a Sleeping Dragon

The morning sunlight streamed in through the large opening in the balcony, rousing Daenerys from her sleep.  Turning in her bed and burying her head into the pillow to escape Mereen’s unwavering sun, Daenerys let out a little groan.

Just because she was Queen didn’t mean she wasn’t like everyone else—she despised the mornings. 

There was a subtle knock on the door, one that Daenerys immediately recognized as Messendei’s.  Peering at the door with one eye open, Messendei entered her room and gave the queen a smile. 

“Good morning,” murmured Messendei stepping forward before waiting at the foot of the bed. 

This was a normal routine between the two.  Messendei was always patient when it came to Daenerys morning routine.  There was a saying between the handmaidens, one that Daenerys, had over heard one of them saying when she passed by their quarters. 

_“Never wake a sleeping Dragon.”_

Daenerys couldn’t help but wonder if that was why Messendei was always the one to wake her up. She was the only one in her inner circle that wasn’t afraid of Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserys—why would she be afraid of the mother of dragons?

“What time is it?” mumbled our Daenerys before moving up to a sitting position in bed to stretch.

“One candle mark past sunrise your grace,” answered Messendei.  “Would you like to take your breakfast on the balcony?  It is a beautiful day.”

Daenerys stood from the bed and gave one last stretch, “yes that seems quite lovely—” she paused, her eyes remembering who had taken residence on her balcony last night. Marching right to the balcony, ignoring Messendei’s concerned calls from behind her. 

Daenerys entered the bright light of the morning day and immediately searched the balcony for the Arya Stark.  Her brow rose in surprise as she looked at the far end of the balcony to see a small make shift camp set up.  Stepping forward towards the camp, Daenerys noted the small campfire and green tent.   She arrived at the camp in a couple steps before reaching forward to peel back the opening of the tent. 

In there she found nothing but empty blankets, a bag of clothes, and a lone candle with a couple books placed nearby.

“Should I call for the unsullied?” asked Messendei, stepping behind her to look into the tent in concern and then at Daenerys.

Daenerys let the flap of the tent down and turned to Messendei.  “No,” she replied, wondering how Arya managed to sneak past her guards this morning, before suddenly her eyes went to the railing. 

“She wouldn’t,” whispered Daenerys, walking to the railing of the balcony and looking over it towards the very steep slant of the pyramid walls.  It didn’t seem possible to do, but Daenerys was starting to accept that maybe the impossible doesn’t apply to the Wolf of Winterfell.

“Your grace?” asked Messendei. 

Daenerys turned from the ledge to see her trusted friend looking at her in concern.  Daenerys gave what she hoped was a calming smile, before walking back into her bedroom. 

“Your grace?” followed Messendei.  “Who’s tent is on your balcony?”

Daenerys smiled, making sure to hide it from Messendei before taking a seat in front of her mirror.  “It is Arya’s,” she answered.

“Stark?” clarified Messendei.  “Arya Stark slept on your balcony?”

“Yes,” answered Daenerys reaching for a comb as she brushed through her hair.  “She requested it after dinner last night.  The woman” paused Daenerys searching for the right word. “—she is a very peculiar creature.”

Messendei came up behind Daenerys and relieved her off the comb and began to brush the tangles from her hair.  The two sat in silence for quite some time before Messendei began working on the intricate knotting of Daenerys hair.  A statement to the soldiers and the people of her power. 

“There is a darkness to her,” said Messendei quietly, her eyes casted down on Daenerys head as she continued the pattern.  “I have seen it before in the eyes of men—never a woman, but the darkness is still the same.”

Daenerys looked up from the mirror and watched Messendei in silence for a few moments, her mind too traveling back in time to see the darkness that lurked behind Arya Stark’s grey eyes.

“I see it too,” said Daenerys watching as Messendei halted in her braiding to stare at her.  “But do you see the light?”

Messendei resumed her braiding and nodded at Daenerys words.  “She walks the path between life and death,” replied Messendei softly.  “But her future is still uncertain—it will only take the slightest tip of the scale for her place her on either side.”

Daenerys watched as Messendei put the final knot into place before standing and giving her friend and must trusted advisor. 

“Then we best make sure we tip the scales to our side,” said Daenerys with determination. 

* * *

Daenerys walked into the meeting for her morning report, and was surprised to find that everyone was present, even the missing Stark from this morning.  Everyone stood as she entered the room, but Daenerys barely noticed as her eyes were firmly trained on the Wolf of Winterfell. 

Arya noticing her gaze bowed her head.  “Your grace,” said the deadly woman in that low rasp that still seemed to have the immediate effect on everyone around them—as all at the table shifted uncomfortably. 

Daenerys gave the woman a small nod as she stepped forward and took a seat at the head of the table, setting off a chain reaction through her inner cycle as they all too sat.

“My queen,” addressed Tyrion standing the meeting.  “We have received word from both the Sand Snakes and the Tyrells. They both are requesting a meeting at Dragonstone upon our landing to discuss an alliance.”

“They know I am coming?” asked Daenerys, looking to Varys with narrowed eyes.

“When you were gone with your dragon, your grace.  I reached out to those who hate the Lannister’s as much as you,” said Varys, casting a glance to Tyrion.  “We believed you needed more allies in Westeros in order to take the throne.”

“Why would you bring the Sand Snakes to her?” asked Yara, that permanent frown on her face.  “They are called Sand Snakes for a reason—they cannot be trusted.”

“Their hate for Cersei can be trusted,” said Tyrion.  “I was there when Prince Oberon was killed by the Mountain.  They will stop at nothing until my sister is dead.”

“I do not care why they fight,” said Daenerys leaning back in her chair addressing her small council.  “As long as they fight to remover Cersei from my rightful throne.”

Tyrion nodded at that, sharing a glance with Varys before moving on to the next topic—his eyes casting a worried glance to Arya. 

“We have also received word from the North,” said Tyrion, his voice only slightly pausing as Arya’s grey eyes slowly dragged to his.  “Joh Snow and Sansa Stark have taken back Winterfell.  The Northerners have named Jon Snow the King of the North.”

“Their both alive?” asked Arya, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes,” answered Tyrion, watching the northern assassin carefully before turning to Daenerys.  “I would like permission to reach out to Joh Snow and request a meeting to discuss an alliance.”

Side glancing to Arya first, Daenerys spoke.  “I never did receive a formal education, but could have sword I read that the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestors, Aegon Targaryen. And in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity?”

Daenerys paused to look around the table.  “Or do I have my facts wrong?”

“No, your grace,” said Varys carefully.  “You are correct.”

“An oath is an oath,” said Daenerys looking to Arya, wondering what the wolf thought of this conversation.  “And what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted. 

“Forever,” replied Arya, her tone and facial expression showing she knew exactly where this conversation was going. 

“Will you brother bend the knee?” asked Daenerys, watching Arya carefully. 

“No,” said Arya looking up, her grey eyes staring into Daenerys very soul.  “No, he won’t.”

Anger flared in Daenerys chest at Arya’s words, and she knew that it flashed in her eyes.  “Your family would break faith with House Targaryen?”

Arya barely even flinched at Daenerys low and dangerous tone.  “Break faith?” said Ayra, her voice never once rising yet is still carried the same dangerous soft tone.  “Your father burned my grandfather alive.  He burned by uncle alive.  He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms—”

“My father was an evil man,” interrupted Daenerys a sadness mixing with the anger in her tone. “On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family.”

Daenerys paused, eyeing Arya as carefully as she chose her next words.  “And I would ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father.  Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known.  Centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North.”

Arya’s grey eyes continued their penetrating gaze.  “You’re right.  You’re not guilty of your father’s crimes.”  She paused, giving Daenerys a final look before looking out the large window to the sea, where just west lay Westeros.  “And John is not beholden to his ancestors’ vows.”

“Then what would you have me do, Arya Stark of Winterfell?” asked Daenerys, anger and frustration laced in her tone. 

This brought Arya’s gaze back to the Queen.  The two stared at one another for quite some time before finally Arya spoke. 

“I know your story, Daenerys Targaryen,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper but still it seemed to echo around the chamber as if she screamed it at the top of her lungs.  “You were born at Dragonstone.  You fled before Robert’s assassins could find you.  You spent your life in foreign lands and so many men have tried to kill you.”

Daenerys sucked in a breath and was entrapped by Arya’s voice.  And she was not the only one. Everyone in the room clung to Arya Starks words.  The room was silent, so silent that Daenerys could hear her heart beat between her eyes. Almost as if they world had held its breath, waiting for what Arya Stark of Winterfell was about to say.

“You have been sold like a broodmare.  You have been chained and betrayed,” Arya paused, making sure to never break Daenerys gaze.  “You have been raped and defiled.” 

A barely restrained snarl could be heard at the end of Arya’s sentence, almost as if the wolf inside her was trying to break free.  Shaking her head, clearing the growl from her voice, Arya continued.  

“Do you know what I believe kept you still standing after all those years in exile, your grace?” asked Arya.

Daenerys inhaled, and her lungs ached within her chest as the feeling of oxygen finally made its way into body.  Opening her mouth, Daenerys meant to speak strongly and assertively, like the queen she was—but instead it came out in barely a whisper.

“What?”

Not even so much as blinking as she stared directly into Daenerys purple eyes.   “Faith, your grace,” she answered simply.  “Not in any gods.  Not in any myths or legends—but in yourself.”

Pausing Arya stared around the room at the small council and unsullied and Dothraki guards that surrounded the room.  “Is this now why we are all here?”  Arya dragged her eyes back to Daenerys.  “We sit around you.  We advise you.  We follow you. Not because of oaths—but because of faith.  Faith in Daenerys Targaryen.”

Arya turned and stared out the window once more.  “Show the north _that_ and you won’t need to rely on oaths for fealty.” 


End file.
